


Collision

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [41]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Brian suffers a nasty injury, Justin comes to his aid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collision

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that I haven't been posting much lately. Life has been keeping me very busy! I am hoping to post a few new fics and update some WIPs in the coming weeks. I hope you enjoy this one - I would love to hear your thoughts, as feedback is always truly appreciated :)

“Mother _fucker!”_

Brian’s very loud, very aggressive entrance is punctuated by the door slamming. The sound hurtles through the apartment, making almost every surface shudder violently. It also scares the living daylights out of Justin. He hastily abandons his station in the kitchen and rushes to see what all the fuss is about.

Although the apartment quickly recovers and ceases rattling, Brian doesn’t pull himself together quite so swiftly. He continues swearing with brutal intensity, his voice rough and strained. Justin’s heart hammers wildly in his chest as he hurries to find Brian. This doesn’t seem like garden variety stress – it sounds absolutely catastrophic.

When Justin comes face-to-face with Brian, he almost cries out. The only thing stopping him is the sudden tightness in his throat. He can actually feel it constricting as he looks at Brian and takes in the awful sight: Brian is leaning against the entryway wall, damp and covered in grime all over, his right arm shredded from his shoulder to his elbow. Blood is dripping down his arm and his side, staining his leg and pooling onto the floor.

Justin manages to unlock his throat and after drawing in a ragged gasp, he cries, “What happened to you?!”

“Fucking asshole,” Brian pants, grimacing, “Fucking motherfucking _asshole_ riding his bike on the sidewalk – clipped me on Houston – fell –”

“I’m calling 911,” Justin blurts out. As he fishes his phone out of his pocket, he goes and presses up against Brian’s left side. “Here, lean on me.”

“Thanks.” Brian sags against him, then grabs the phone and tosses it in the general direction of the nearest armchair. “You’re not calling 911. It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Justin gapes at him. _“Not that bad?_ You’re bleeding, you need-”

“I need it cleaned and bandaged. Nothing you can’t handle.” Brian nudges him and prompts, “Are you going to make me stand here all night?”

Upon realising that they’re still standing in the entryway, Justin murmurs and apology and rushes into action. He helps Brian into the kitchen and helps him sit down. As he goes to fetch the first aid kit, he asks, “Did you get a good look at the guy?”

“No,” Brian grumbles, “I was leaving the gym. As soon as I was out the door, he knocked me flat on the ground. Right into a fucking puddle too, the motherfucking asshole. Then he rode right off.”

“Asshole,” Justin spits. He slams the first aid kit down on the island and heaves a sigh. “He could have killed you. People die like that all the time. You could have-”

“I didn’t.” Brian’s voice is suddenly softer. “I’m fine.”

He inches his right hand towards Justin’s, but it’s clearly a struggle. Justin directs Brian to stay still and goes to grab a bowl from the cabinet. As he fills it with warm water and grabs a couple of clean towels, he tries to breathe as slowly and soothingly as possible. The thought of Brian being knocked down is bad enough; the thought of him getting knocked down and not getting back up again is excruciating.

Once he feels marginally calmer, Justin returns to Brian’s side and kisses his cheek. “This might sting a bit.”

“I can take it,” Brian claims breezily, although he winces as soon as the damp towel comes into contact with his scraped shoulder.

Justin is as gentle as gentle can be. He focuses on touching the towel to Brian’s torn skin as carefully as possible. When the white cotton comes away stained pink, his stomach turns. He tries not to let it show and focuses on cleaning the blood and dirt away.

“Thanks,” Brian says, smiling slightly. “That feels better.”

“It might feel worse in a moment,” Justin warns, whilst eyeing the bottle of antiseptic. “And you might be in for a scar or two. This is pretty bad, Bri.”

Brian’s face darkens. “Great. Another hideous scar.”

Justin sets aside the bowl of water, now murky with blood and filth from the street, and starts dabbing Brian’s arm with a dry towel. “I’ve told you before – I think your scar is gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous,” Brian scoffs.

“Beautiful,” Justin adds, smiling. “Exquisite, even.”

Brian scoffs again. Justin touches his hand to Brian’s cheek and turns his face so that they’re eye-to-eye. “That scar means that you survived something that could have been fatal. Same goes for if this ends up scarring. They’re symbols of survival.”

“You and your goddamned symbolism,” Brian gripes, although there’s an abundance of warmth in his tone.

“I love that scar,” Justin says, pressing a tender kiss to Brian’s cheek, “And I’ll love this one, too. Seriously… I’m looking at future scar tissue here. Fuck.”

He surveys Brian’s raw arm and feels a sharp stab of panic. There’s no point giving into that, though, so Justin focuses on the next task at hand. He grabs the antiseptic and soaks one of the gauze pads with it. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Brian frowns. Justin doesn’t spare a second – he clamps the soaked gauze over Brian’s flesh. _“Fuck!_ Jesus fucking Christ, Justin!”

Justin hushes him and continues treating Brian’s arm from shoulder to elbow. “You know, Daph has this weekend off. I might invite her to visit – then she can give this a second look.”

“Please do. Then I can tell her what a terrible fucking nurse you are.”

“Terrible, huh?” Justin smiles sheepishly at Brian. “What’s one worse than terrible?”

“I don’t know.” Brian scowls. “Uh, ‘atrocious’?”

“Atrocious,” Justin echoes. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “I’m probably going to graduate to ‘atrocious’ any second now.”

“What?” There’s a spark of panic in Brian’s tone. “What do you mean? What are you going to do next?”

Justin bins the gauze and grabs the scissors. He brandishes them and explains guiltily, “I’m going to cut your shirt off.”

“Fuck off,” Brian retorts hotly, looking aghast. He covers his chest with his good arm. “No you’re not.”

“I have to!”

“Do you have any idea how much this cost?!”

“I have a very good idea of how much it cost.” Justin tries to maintain an indifferent expression, but he can feel a sneer sneaking through. “Nobody’s forcing you to spend hundreds of dollars on gym gear.”

“No, but I’ll be forcing you to spend hundreds of dollars on replacing this if you come at me with those.” Brian glares at the scissors with evident repulsion. “Don’t you dare.”

Justin takes a moment to weigh up his options. The garment in question – a _very_ tight-fitting tank – needs to come off so that he can get Brian bandaged and into the bath. It either needs to be pulled off, which would hurt like a bitch, or cut off. Justin opts to stand by his original preference for the latter. “You know what? I’ll take the hit. I’ll drop by Saks tomorrow and buy you another one. That ridiculously overpriced scrap of fabric is coming off _now.”_

Brian huffs and drops his good arm. “Fine. You’re the boss.”

“I thought I was the atrocious nurse?”

“Whatever.” Brian’s scowl grows gloomier as Justin starts snipping away. “You do realise that you’re making me relive my trauma, right?”

As Justin cuts the front of the shirt open, he asks with a dubious chuckle, “How exactly is this making you relive your trauma?”

“You’re mutilating my shirt,” Brian sniffs, “Much like I myself was mutilated.”

“‘Mutilation’ seems a bit extreme.” Justin snips through the shoulders and pulls the shirt off in scraps. He smirks as Brian eyes them with dismay. “Your shirt died a noble death. You survived a nasty incident and _might_ have to endure a little scarring. _Beautiful_ scarring, if you ask me.”

Brian’s scowl starts to lift and a smile begins to shine through. Justin grins at him and grabs the bandages. “Just some final touches and you’ll be alright.”

He winds a length of bandage around Brian’s arm with immense caution. The skin – or what little is left of it – is still viciously red and raw. It’s painful to look at; Justin doesn’t want to think what it must feel like. Once the bandages are secure, he touches his lips to Brian’s shoulder in the softest of kisses. “I’m going to run you a bath.”

“Thanks.”

As Justin starts to leave the kitchen, Brian calls him back with a quiet, “Hey.”

Justin turns to face him with a smile. “Hey.”

Brian gazes at him tenderly for a moment, then reaches out and touches Justin’s shoulder. It’s then that Justin realises that he’s trembling all over. He gravitates towards Brian and lets Brian pull him into a one-armed hug. As they embrace, Justin tries to stop himself from shaking but it proves impossible. He closes his eyes and a series of ghastly images hit him over and over again: Brian caved against the wall, covered in blood; the towel turning pink, then red; the water filling with blood and grime; Brian’s flesh, badly marred. He imagines Brian being struck, imagines him falling, imagines him hitting the ground. Justin cringes and buries his face in the crook of Brian’s neck.

“I’m okay,” Brian whispers.

“I know,” Justin says, trying to commit it to memory. He fights off the array of ugly images and tells himself over and over: _he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay._

“I love you,” Brian says, even more softly. It’s so quietly spoken that Justin almost misses it. But like they always do, the words leap out at him. They may be whispered but they’re no less meaningful for it. Right now, they feel more meaningful than ever before.

Justin pulls back a little and looks at Brian. He drinks in the sight of his partner – perhaps not all that well at the moment, but alive. _Alive._ That’s all that matters. Justin cradles Brian’s neck in his hands and kisses him: his lips, his cheeks, his jaw, his chin. He appreciates every tiny sensation, every thrill that goes with each of the kisses. He chases those thrills with his own admission – his voice is rough and strained, and he’s still trembling slightly, but as soon as he speaks he feels better. He hopes that they make Brian feel better as well. The light in his eyes and the warmth of Brian's growing smile suggests that they do.

“I love you, too.”

  **The End**


End file.
